


Don't Point that Thing at Me Unless You Intend to Shoot

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bitty and Jack break up offscreen, Cultural Differences, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kink Meme, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Size Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-27 19:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: Tater is big, and friendly, and very sweet...Really big. Really sweet.And hard to forget.Tater gets traded, Bitty gets single, and then thingsreallyget interesting.





	1. 1

When they'd first met, Bitty told himself it was only because Tater ate that dang last slice of pie. He knew, most of the time, that he baked because he wanted to make people happy, and that a little part of him interpreted an uneaten slice of pie as a rejection. Most of the time he knew it wasn't rational, but that didn't stop him from feeling better when someone grabbed that last slice.

So he was grateful. To Tater. Why wouldn't he be? Tater had eaten the pie, and had been nice to him, and hell, he'd helped Bitty understand Jack a little better, and Lord knows that wasn't always easy, as much as he loved Jack.

And that was it. That was all it needed to be or should be. Tater was a good teammate, which was good. He could be a little bit of a friend to Bitty at family skate, and that was nice. He had a good laugh. Big hands.

Really big hands.

 _Okay, Eric Bittle, that's enough of that._ Sure, he wasn't blind, but he knew better than to sit around thinking about just how big Alexei 'Tater is fine, no problem' Mashkov was. He had Jack, and Jack was more than enough man for anyone.

Sure, it got lonely sometimes when Jack was on the road, but it wasn't like Tater wasn't on the road with Jack too. He'd see him in interviews, his thick, musical accent, his contagious smile. Jack always looked nervous after a game, but Tater was relaxed. _Hearty,_ Mama would've called it, if Mama was still speaking to him.

There were some teen shelters in Providence, and Sojourner House didn't mind a pie or two, so he did a lot of baking and donating. Took a part-time shift at the coffee shop around the corner from his house, so he could see more people face to face. Kept him busy, because you couldn't vlog all the time.

It wasn't that lonely. Not really.

And if some nights when he stared up at the ceiling he didn't think _just_ about Jack coming home...well, that was between him and the bedspread.

It would be better when Jack was home for the off-season. It always was.

 

But somehow, even though it was his first year after graduation and the two of them had all the time in the world to be together, it wasn't better. Jack was more restless, and he didn't have the patience for Bitty's work that he'd once had. The season hadn't gone as well, and he spent more time at the rink. He didn't want to drop off pies at Sojourner House. Bitty worked on his vlogs and his recipes and worked at the coffee shop four days a week and tried not to tear his hair out.

Bitty supposed it wasn't exactly subtle, but it was still a bit sobering when he realized that the other Falcs were checking in on him. Georgia scheduled appearances at local kitchen stores, which was fun, and the press team started talking about working with the other NHL teams to make a Hockey Wives Cookbook. Marty and Gabby had them over for dinner. Tater came over one Friday for dinner with a DVD of Russian cooking shows. "For ideas," he said. "Russian shows, they do things different. You get ideas for vlog."

His English had improved a lot, but when he was tired or just with friends, he didn't work quite as hard. It was nice to think that he trusted Bitty and Jack.

Jack went to bed early, and he and Tater ended up watching more Russian videos on YouTube, silly game shows and cartoons, with Tater providing running commentary and correcting translations when he thought they weren't accurate.

It was comfortable, being with Tater on the couch. Tater was big and warm and just as friendly as he'd ever been, even with all the awkwardness that had gone on at dinner.

Bitty hated saying good night to him, and hated himself more for not wanting him to leave.

He was the boyfriend of the first out gay player in the NHL. Everyone said they were a model couple.

Bitty was pretty damn sure that being a model couple didn't involve jerking off in the bathroom thinking about Alexei Mashkov's big, big hands on him while his boyfriend snored in bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tater knows what he wants, and he knows all the reasons he can't have it.

People thought figure skaters were fragile. Alexei always thought it was because of the jumps and the grace of the sport; skaters flew on the ice, not like hockey players, and it made people think that kicking gravity in the face is easy, that they were light as a feather and soft as a breeze. Alexei knew better. He'd seen Mom skate through injuries that put Dad on the bench for a week. Mama had never _not_ been able to lift him. Skaters were tough.

Eric Bittle was tough. College and high school hockey, figure skating--very tough.

Whatever was going on between him and Zimmboni--and Alexei was not entirely sure that even he or Jack were really sure--B was doing his best to keep going. Chin up, that was the English term. B's chin was very firmly held up.

That was one of the reasons coming over to Zimmboni and B's place for dinner was probably not a good idea, especially when he was alone and lacking the pleasant buffer of a date. B was a good cook and dinner was nice, but then Jack went to bed and it was just the two of them on the couch, close enough that they could almost touch. B wasn't small--a little on the short side, sure, but not tiny--and Alexei knew that he wasn't tiny. 

But he wasn't _big_ either. He could come just up to Alexei's chin if Alexei--

No. Those were things Alexei wasn't doing. Zimmboni was a friend. B was a friend. Friends didn't fuck up their friends' relationships, they let them fuck them up on their own. And he didn't want them to break up, not really. He'd spent his life in Russia and in hockey. He didn't have that many gay friends. Fewer still that were part of happy couples, and only Jack and Bitty had sent him layered pink, purple and blue cookies the weekend after he came out ( _I baked them, but Jack helped,_ the post-it note had read, and Jack had signed it, too).

It would be easy to blame one or the other of them, but Alexei didn't want to do that. Zimmboni was a good guy, even if he did sometimes have trouble understanding how people worked. B was a good guy, even if he did sometimes mistake food for affection. And Alexei was a good guy, who didn't have enough friends in the States, and wasn't about to put any of his friendships in jeopardy. So he'd said good night, eventually, and gone to bed alone, and if he stared at the ceiling for a little too long, thinking about how B’s lean thighs would feel against his own, that was no one's business but his.

Things seemed less tense once the season started up again, anyway. Jack smiled a little more, and the team rolled along, and Alexei went as many as two or three days at a time without thinking anything inappropriate about Eric Bittle.

Then he was traded two weeks in.

It wasn't that much a surprise--Snowy was already gone, a younger, harder goalie in his place, and no spot was forever--but it was still hard to clean out his locker and say goodbye, especially to the wives and girlfriends and B. Players you could catch up with. Partners weren't guaranteed the same way.

"You keep in touch, all right?" B said, holding onto his ribs, his chin in Alexei's armpit. "Falcs might be tradin' you, but you're still--"

"Of course," he said, and B felt small when he was sad, smaller than normal, and Alexei thought about how his hands would spread over the expanse of B's back. "You never lose me, B, all right?"

"All right." B squeezed him again, and he was _strong_ even a few years out of hockey. "I'll hold you to it, Tater."

"Aloysha," he said, before he could stop himself. "Tater is hockey friend, but you are more than hockey friend, yes? You can call me Aloysha."

"Okay," B said. "Aloysha."

 

His apartment in New York was nice, modern, but filled with things that reminded him of home--all of his homes, American and Russian both. Bitty sent two jars of pluot jam, and while Alexei still wasn't quite sure what pluots were, it was delicious. The Rangers were friendly, and they worked well together. It wasn't the worst thing it could be. It was part of the business; he'd always known that.

New York wasn't all bad, either. He loved the different languages and accents washing over him as he shopped and ate and went out for drinks. Madison Square Garden was a good place to play. He liked the food, and the bars, sometimes, when he was in the right mood. He went out dancing. Sometimes he took people home, sometimes they took him home, sometimes he went home alone, and that was all right too. Once he broke up a fight by looming over a guy until he backed down. Alexei had turned looming into something of an art.

Jack had been the Falconers' You Can Play ambassador, and Alexei hadn’t had to do much but wrap his stick in rainbow tape on Pride nights, even after he came out. The Rangers decided to have two ambassadors rather than replace Brendon "Twenty-eight" Haight, the 22-year-old winger from South Carolina who'd been doing it since he made the team. They did a video playing up their contrasts--newcomer to the team and four-year veteran, black and white, Southern and Russian--and gently mocking each other's accents. _Whoever you are, wherever you come from, if you can play, you can play._

_Even if you can't order biscuits and gravy right._

_Blinis are better anyway._

"It's good, that you did this," Alexei said, when they were changing back into their regular clothes. "Am glad to have someone already here. Harder with Falcs, when Jack came out. I should have said something sooner, but--"

"Hey, it ain’t easy. My brother's gay, and I learned a lot from him," 28 said. "It's...personal, I guess." He clapped Alexei's shoulder. "What matters is you’re out now. Too many secrets in this league, you know?"

"Yeah," Alexei said, and took him out for a beer. B sent extra jam to pass on to 28 when he saw the video.

A month later, B and Zimmboni both told him, separately, that they were breaking up, that no one was to blame and that they both wanted him to stay friends with them both. _I do too,_ he said, and he meant it, and he missed Providence and he missed the rink and missed feeling like he could come back to that apartment and the smell of baking pie and Eric Bittle throwing his arms around Alexei's waist and putting his head against Alexei's chest, just for a second, just friendly affection. He thought of more, too, of the way B's voice sounded when he struggled with _Aloysha,_ of how soft his hair looked, of what would happen if B’s head stayed against his chest and he let Alexei hold him close. But just having the familiarity he remembered would have been enough.

 

They were on a roadie against the Avalanche, out of practice and back in the locker room, when his phone started playing _Irreplaceable._

"Girlfriend, Tater?"

Alexei shook his head. "No--" B didn't call, he texted first to see if it was a good time. When they weren't in the same time zone he usually didn’t even do that; he’d email, or just text. Alexei grabbed the phone.

"I'm sorry to bother you," B said, and he'd been crying, it was obvious. "But I--I just needed to talk to somebody. Lord, I don't even know what time it is out there, I'm not--"

Alexei sat on the bench. "B," he said. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's not, not _wrong._ It's kinda right? I'm just. I guess I'm overwhelmed, and I thought you might--"

"You tell me, then." He put his towel on his lap, for warmth more than modesty. “Please."

"I--Mama called," he said.

"Oh, B," he said.

He let B sob on the other side of the line for a while, ugly, gulping sobs, with a few stuttered apologies. "No. Don't apologize. Don't--it's fine, B. It's fine."

28, out of the shower, shot him a look. _OK?_

Alexei waved his hand in the best tell-you-later gesture he knew. He listened as B choked more tears back, took a breath. "We didn't...we really didn't talk about much? But she _called me._ We talked. I just...Lord alive, I _missed_ her so much."

"I know," he said. He did know. Knew how B had talked about his mother before the Cup and how hurt he'd been after. 

"I prob'ly should've called Shitty and Lardo but they--"

"Is all right, B. I am glad you called. Am just getting out of practice, is fine."

"Thank you," B said. "I just...Coach told me she'd come around. And I--I hoped she would? And it's not like she wanted to talk about Jack or anything but...she talked to me."

"Is good," Alexei said. "I am so glad, B."

"I'll--I'll call you back later, all right? Or email you, I don't know, my head's a mess. But you're out of practice, you’ll want to--"

"It's fine."

"I just--I just needed to talk. I think I need to cry again for a little while, but--but good cryin’. it's good. I’ll talk to you later, though, all right?"

"Whatever you need. No rush here."

"Thank you. Thank you, Aloysha. So much."

"Is nothing, B. But you--you call me later, all right? I don't want you--"

"I will," he said. Alexei heard the hint of a smile there, and it made something clutch in his gut. "I promise."

He hung up the phone. Papa had already been gone, but Mama had made sure he knew that she loved him, when he’d talked to her about coming out. He didn't see her often enough, but he knew he was lucky.

Zimmboni had told him how important B's mother was to him, how much it had hurt when she'd gone silent. He’d noticed it too, at family skate, the way sometimes B’s face reflected old hurts.

28 was sitting next to him. "You okay?"

Alexei nodded. "I'm okay. He's okay. Is--was a shock. My friend--his mother didn't handle things so well, when he came out. He called because she has called him. He's--" He shrugged. "You can imagine."

"I can imagine," he said. He put a hand on Alexei's shoulder. "You look a little shook too."

"He--I didn't think he would call me. Is...honor, I guess? He is...good man."

"This the B who sends you the jam?"

Alexei nodded. "Good friend," he said.

"You know, you talk about him a lot."

Alexei shook his head. "Is not like that."

"You sure?"

"Is good friend," he said. "They are not so easy to find."

"Neither's someone to love, Tater." 28 squeezed his shoulder. "But whatever you say, all right? Say hi to him for me. Ask him when I'll get more jam."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty gets a few surprises.

Mama had probably only called because she heard about the breakup, but Bitty couldn’t care that much. It had been too good to hear her voice. 

They’d talked carefully, mostly about food, but he’d learned his cousin Annabeth was getting married and his uncle Robbie was in rehab, which should have happened years ago, but it was good he was getting help now. She’d called him Dickie. It had been nice.

It was only after he’d hung up the phone that the crash had come. Before he’d even known what had happened there was an apple crumble in the oven and a giant batch of spritz cookies chilling in the fridge. And he’d wanted--needed--to talk to someone. 

Six months ago, it would have been Jack, no question.

Shitty and Lardo would always talk to him. Holster, Ransom--Holster seemed to like him even more now that he and Jack were over--Chowder, Whiskey. Alan from work, who’d been kicked out of his house when he was sixteen, would’ve understood.

But when Bitty looked at his contacts it wasn’t even a question. It wasn’t that he’d changed the name in his address book, so that ‘Aloysha’ came up just about first instead of down with the Ts. It was that Aloysha was who he wanted to talk to. Aloysha was in a strange place without his family, too. And he was easy to talk to. 

He wondered if Aloysha would have wanted to drive to Sojourner House if he was still in Providence. He’d have to call later and thank him. For letting him sob loudly in his ear. Lord have mercy, he hadn’t been-- _exposed_ like that in a long time. And Aloysha had been so kind.

 _Damn_ it. 

He was trying to figure out whether he should box up the spritz cookies and mail them to New York, or to the frogs back at Samwell--the Haus kids would always take cookies--when the phone rang again.

 

He'd thought about driving to New York, but when they’d told him his travel allowance, Bitty had splurged on the flight instead. Aloysha was waiting for him, his big smile more welcoming than any hotel could be.

He lifted Bitty's feet off the floor he hugged him so tight, and Bitty felt his breath catch a little. 

"B," he said, his big arms still around Bitty’s waist, "it is so good to see you again. I will show you all of the city, yes? All the markets. There are good Russian restaurants here, too, you can try some of my food, yes?"

"Yes," he said, "of course, that'd be lovely."

"But first you see the apartment, yes? I will drive you--I am a real New York driver, B, you will be impressed."

Aloysha was indeed a true New York driver, which meant Bitty spent most of the drive clutching at the seat cushion and trying not to panic as the car slid into impossibly small spaces. "Subway is nice too," Aloysha said genially, as he took yet another mind-numbing turn. "Not as good as St. Petersburg, but is easy to follow. But this is easier with suitcases."

"Thanks again," he said. "They would have paid for a hotel, but this way I didn't have to drive, and it's nicer to stay with a friend."

"Would be disappointed if you did not," he said. "Spare room, all ready for you. Just me there."

 _You're not seeing anyone,_ Bitty didn't ask. He didn't ask about Aloysha's own bedroom or how big the spare room was. He kept his eyes on the road and his mind on Aloysha's driving, instead of his big hands on the steering wheel.

"Do I have to get you to the studio? I can get Uber, or drive, or--"

"They said they'd bring a car," he said. "I don't know what your schedule looks like, but I thought maybe you could meet me when I was done, we could pick out something for me to make for dinner. Chelsea Market’s supposed to have wonderful food."

"You don't have to cook for me, B."

"I want to," he said. "Besides, it'll keep me calm."

"If you want to cook, you cook, but no cooking to make yourself welcome. You are always welcome. All right?"

"All right," he said, a bit of a blush starting on his cheeks. "But really--"

"B," he said, and reached over, covering Bitty's hand with his own, and that was enough to send his pulse racing. "You are home, staying with me. No questions. No 'but really.'"

"You're going to have to let me bake _something,_ though," he said. "I might lose my mind otherwise."

Aloysha squeezed his hand. "No having that. I made sure I have butter and eggs. Mixing cups."

"You're the best friend a boy could ask for," Bitty said, feeling better.

"Ah, there is my building. You'll like, I hope."

Bitty told himself he was relieved when Aloysha had to let go of his hand to park.

Aloysha's building had a real doorman and an old-fashioned elevator with the pointer that told you what floor you were on. The apartment was pretty; maybe half the size of his old place in Providence and heaven only knew how much more expensive. He'd hung an Oriental rug and his old jersey from the Falconers on the walls, and a painting that Bitty didn't recognize but was full of flowers and light.

The stove was gas, clearly a relatively recent replacement, and scrubbed spotlessly clean. "Did you clean for me?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Always clean when guests come," Aloysha said. He'd insisted on carrying Bitty's luggage, and had the carryon in one hand and Bitty's backpack slung over the opposite shoulder.

"Oh, _now_ I'm a guest?"

"Friends can be guests," Aloysha said diplomatically. "Come see your room, yes? Is nice. Big bed."

 _Oh, Lord, I wish he wouldn't say things like that,_ he thought, but he followed Aloysha into the room.

It _was_ nice, and the bed _was_ big, and Bitty wondered, for a hot, panicked moment if he should have just paid for a hotel room after all. 

"I have practice tomorrow morning, will go to gym sometime today, but that is no trouble. We go ice skating after you tape show, yes? Rockefeller Center. Lots of people, very pretty. We are lucky, all home games this week. Red Wings tomorrow, should be good game if you want to watch."

"That'd be nice." It'd be different, going to a game as a spectator--a friend, but not a boyfriend. Different to watch an NHL game without Jack. He'd avoided them, aside from keeping track of the rankings so he could talk to Aloysha and Chowder. 

"You want me to get out of your way, or stay here? Whatever helps tonight, yes?"

Bitty had a lot of ideas, but none of them were exactly what he wanted to say. None of them were exactly what he _should_ be saying. And if he sat around for too long, nervousness would eat him alive. "You want to help bake a pie?"

"I would love to help bake pie. Two pies, if you want to make. Guys would love it."

"I suppose I won't upset the nutritionist as much if it's just this once," Bitty teased. He wondered what it would feel like to just--reach up, twine his arms around Aloysha's neck, pull him closer. Lord, Bitty had missed him, and how was he going to keep himself together for the better part of a week? "Let's see what's in that fridge of yours. And there must be flour--"

"Flour," Aloysha said, like he was trying to wrap his head around the idea. "I--oh. Oh, B."

"You don't have flour?"

"B, I am so sorry--"

Bitty laughed; he couldn't help it. "Well, we know what we need first, I guess."

There was a bodega two blocks south from Aloysha's apartment, with a big sleepy marmalade cat and a tinny radio playing Mexican pop. They bought flour and brown sugar, nutmeg and cloves, and then Bitty spied fresh cranberries ( _they are good?_ Aloysha asked, and Bitty had said _just you wait_ ). Aloysha insisted on carrying the bag back. "Be a tourist," he said. "Look at what you want, take your time. Is nice neighborhood."

It was nice. Mama would've said it had character. He could see plant pots turned upside-down for the winter on stoops and balconies, and signs of children here and there. He set Aloysha to peeling apples when they got back in, and started on the crust. "You're a natural," he said, and Aloysha looked up at him and smiled, like it had been the best compliment he'd heard in months.

"All right," he said, when Aloysha presented him with the neatly peeled apples, "why don't you run off to the gym? Pie'll be ready when you get back."

"You'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine," he said. "It'll take me a while to finish up the the filling, don't worry. Just make sure I have your wifi password for when it's baking."

"All right," he said. 

Bitty finished the filling and got the pie in the oven and sent Mama an email to say he was safe in the city. They talked mostly in email these days, but they were talking. _Good luck tomorrow!!!_ she'd written. _I just know they'll want you back._ She'd probably be praying for him.

_Thank you. Even if they don't, I'll have a TV appearance! I'll get more traffic for sure._

_I'm proud of you,_ she sent back, and he had to take a second to blink tears out of his eyes.

_Give Coach a big hug for me. And save one for yourself._

The pie looked good and smelled better, and how had Aloysha been in the States for years without having cranberries? Well, better late than never. He checked the fridge to see what he might be able to build dinner from--he knew meal plans like the back of his hand, after all--and put some cooked chicken and vegetables together for a soup. 

Tomorrow morning they'd pick him up and take him to Chelsea Market, and then...well, he'd just have to do his best, then. He'd been on tv before, after all. At least this time he'd be talking for himself, about his own work, not about his famous boyfriend. This time it would be Eric Bittle, former hockey captain and A-1 baker, talking about flavor combinations and not his love life.

A consultation with Wikihow helped him get the samovar working, so there was hot tea waiting for Aloysha when he got back. "B," he said, as he grabbed a mug. "You even got out jam for me?"

"You always did like it with jam," Bitty said, because he hadn't been raised to brag. 

Aloysha grabbed him for a one-handed hug, then poured himself tea. "Need more?"

"I'm fine," Bitty said. His heart was pounding a little. "The last thing I think I need is more caffeine."

"You didn't just do for me?"

"No," Bitty said, "no, but I'm just staying with one cup." Hopefully, Aloysha wouldn't ask where his cup _was_ before he could quietly hustle one into the sink. 

"All right," Aloysha said, and squeezed his waist before letting him go. Bitty sent a wish to the universe that the apartment walls were thicker than they looked, because Lord knows he wasn't sleeping tonight without giving himself some attention. "You hungry yet? Pie smells good. Lots of places to order in, or--"

"I started some soup, if that's all right?"

Aloysha walked to the stove. "All right? You are dream come true."

He blushed hot that time. "Well, don't get _too_ carried away."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nice having Bitty around the apartment.

B said he thought the taping went well--"I can't say what, I'm sorry, if I even tell you who I saw it's a spoiler--" and he was in a good mood when they got to Rockefeller Center. 

"You miss it?" Alexei asked.

"You know I do," B said, a little shyly. "It's been...I don't know. Felt like I was intruding on Jack to go back to the rink. There's a little one, not too bad, but not as convenient, so I guess I'm fallin' a little out of the habit."

"Should never leave the ice," Alexei said. "You were skater all along, too. So what if you don't shit in Stanley Cup?"

"I got my figure skates back out," he said. "I might start helping the Little Tots classes on Saturday mornings. That'd be kind of fun."

"You were always good with kids at family skate."

"Yeah," he said, and he seemed a little sad about that. "Well, they seem to like me well enough. Wouldn’t pay much but I don't need that much, for now. College is paid for, so it's really just rent and food. This works out, maybe I'll get a car, huh?"

"You can probably buy more than car, Food Network deal."

"Now, now, I'm looking for the Cooking Channel. Maybe ‘Bittle's Baking Bites?’ I don't know. But none of that competition stuff, it's not as stable. And I'd rather be teaching than doing stunts and such any day of the week."

"All right, then. Cooking Channel deal. That not in New York, though."

"I'll still visit, no matter what."

Little speeches kept forming in the back of his mind. _You don't have to stay in Providence, with your old memories. You could stay with me as long as you want to._ He never struggled with the language then; the words formed in his mind perfectly, half in English, half in Russian, always saying exactly what he wanted to.

It felt so natural to be skating with B again. B's spins were lovely, for a man who had left figure skating behind for hockey years ago. He wondered what it would have been like if he'd kept going with figures. Not as graceful as Mama, but men didn't have to be. He certainly would've been flexible enough.

He remembered watching Papa skate with Mama, gracious, his hand guiding Mama's back, even though all three of them knew she needed no guidance at all. That had been back before his sister was born, when Papa was still alive. It had been the most romantic thing Alexei had ever seen. 

"B," he said. "You do something silly with me, yes?"

B smiled up at him. "Aloysha," he said. "I would love to do something silly with you."

"The ice is not so crowded, yes?" He reached out, and B took his hand. "Lifts?"

"I'd be delighted," he said, and they even got a little applause when he hoisted B up over his head, spun him, and all he wanted to do was pull B back into his arms when he touched down on the ice again. He settled for putting his hand at the small of B's back, skating lazily along the edge of the rink, like a picture postcard. B looked up at him, a sly little smile at the corner of his lips, and then held out his hand. "Come on," he said, and spun away from Alexei, their outstretched hands keeping them in contact. He spun back in, almost against Alexei's chest, just for a moment, before spinning out again. He caught Alexei's eyes, and winked.

"Eric Bittle," he said. "You are always pleasure to skate with."

"You probably have to get back," he said. "Your game--"

"A little longer," he said. "And you will watch, yes?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he said.

 

It had been a good game. The Red Wings fought hard, but they fought fair, and a one-point victory was still a victory. 

They grabbed dinner at a Russian place, as Alexei had promised, but it was too crowded and loud to allow for much conversation. But B was happy and excited and seemed to love the food. Alexei watched him talk, watched his hands fly when he wanted to make a point. Alexei kept wanting to catch them, press kisses to B's fingers. 

They walked to the subway, kept track of each other in the scrum of people rushing for the train. It wasn't so busy late at night, but Alexei didn't want to risk it anyway, kept his eyes on B's bright hair.

"You remember?" Alexei asked, when they got above ground, and B frowned and looked left and right.

He pointed. "This way?"

"Yes! Very good, you be native New Yorker soon. Better than me."

"Well, we'll see about that," B said, clearly flattered, and Alexei wanted to slip his hand into B's, pretend to be a couple going home.

B almost knew the way back, already. He only hesitated once on the walk home, and Alexei watched him purse his lips at the buildings, trying to find the right match. "Is different at night," he said, encouragingly.

"Aloysha, it's all right, I'm man enough to admit when I'm lost."

Alexei took his arm. "You're close! Just...not quite right."

B laughed. "I swear, you'd let me wander around all night." He made Alexei lead the rest of the way in revenge, ducking under his arm when they reached the building to get back to the apartment and serve up his pie, heated in the microwave ( _not really something I approve of, but I know you and pie_ ) and topped with homemade whipped cream.

They landed in the living area, B on the couch, Alexei in the massive overstuffed chair he preferred, checking their phones. The sort of thing couples could do, Alexei thought. It had been a long time since he'd felt this comfortable with someone. He hoped B was comfortable too.

 _Check Perez,_ Garrett had sent him. _Nothing we're worried about, just wanted you to know._

_IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED...TRY ANOTHER NHL PLAYER?_

At least the paparazzi wouldn't make any money off it, they were just cellphone snaps. 

The pictures would have been cute if it wasn't for the thick coating of nastiness that surrounded them. B looked happy in the lift, laughing, and Alexei hadn't realized how much his own emotions registered on his face. He wondered what Mama would say, when she saw them. She'd probably tease him. He’d talked too much about little B already.

But the article. What _garbage._ It made Alexei want to--

He sighed. What was the point? It was a good day. It was a good night. What could a bunch of assholes online do to him now?

Still, it was a pity he couldn't pick them up by the backs of their jerseys and let them dangle a bit. Just to think about what they'd done.

Who wrote this trash? No amount of money could make doing this worth it.

_One thing's for sure--Biddle likes 'em big._

"Oh, Lord," B said from the couch, and Alexei realized they were probably reading the same thing. 

"Gossip site?"

"'fraid so," B said. "I thought--New York City's so big, I didn't figure anyone would notice."

"Me neither," he said. "Should have worn sunglasses, big hat. You think it will hurt you with show?"

B sighed. "Probably not. The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about, right?"

"I am still sorry," he said.

"I had a wonderful time," B said. "Nothing to be sorry for. How are you feeling? Don't let me keep you up half the night."

"Always hard to sleep after win. No trouble. You sleep when you need to. Another day taping tomorrow, you need your rest."

"It's been--" B stopped, took a breath, started again. "It hasn't been that bad, living alone. But I've missed having someone to just...be with, I guess. It was good for me, but--gets lonely."

"It is nice," Alexei said. "Having you here. Why I want you for Food Network, not Cooking Channel."

"You could get traded to the Predators," B said.

So stupid, them talking like this, like it was something they could have. Like a game. Playing house. "Won't play hockey forever," he said. "Knees will give out eventually. Then I retire. Maybe coach. Not NHL, though. Maybe college, somewhere like Samwell. Was nice when I visited."

"They'd be lucky to have you," he said.

"Maybe," Alexei said. "I could help in Russian classes, yes? Good life, I think. Is cheaper for children, yes? If I worked there? I still don't understand how it works, school you must pay for."

B took too long to answer.

"Like any child of yours wouldn't be able to do whatever they put their mind to," he said finally, with a little sigh, and Alexei had said something wrong and broken the spell. "Well. I guess I really should get some sleep."

"You need anything, you tell me, yes?"

"Of course," B said. "Thank you, Aloysha. It was a real nice day."

Alexei tried not to listen to B in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, tried not to think of B changing behind the door. He put on ESPN so he could watch the highlights.

It must have worked, because he was surprised when B started talking. "I'm sorry," he said, over Alexei’s shoulder. "We--we fought about kids. It was already--I think maybe it was already over between us by then. But it's still...raw, I guess, that part of it."

"You wanted?"

"He thought it was selfish," he said. "And it'd be harder for us--like I didn't _know_ that, my goodness." He'd walked over so he was standing behind Tater's chair. "But...you didn't say anything wrong. I'm just--I get silly when people tell me I can't have what I want."

"Zimmboni?"

"No," he said, very softly. "Not any more. Just...I guess it's the principle of the thing. I just--you didn't say anything wrong, all right?" His fingers brushed the back of Tater's head, ruffling his hair. "You...get a good night's sleep. Don't worry about me."

"Sleep better with you," he said, quiet enough that B could pretend not to hear.

When Bitty spoke again, it was quiet too. "Aloysha," he said. "It was good for me, I guess. Living alone for a while. I know what I don't want, now. I'm not made to flirt around. I want to be friends with you. If we do this--I don't want to _just_ be friends. I can’t settle for that."

"No," Alexei said. "But stay friends, yes?"

Bitty put his hands on Alexei's shoulders. "Lord, yes."

"Or I just never let you go." Alexei turned his head and pressed a kiss to the back of B's hand. "That might not be so bad, either."

"It might not," B said, and he was holding very still, like he might break everything if he moved too quickly.

"I should help you to bed. Been long day."

"You must be more tired than me.”

Alexei stood up.

"Oh," B said, looking up, and that was another thing Alexei liked about B; he caught on fast. He looked up, big-eyed and innocent. "Oh, I guess it _might_ be all right if you helped me."

Alexei walked back behind the chair and scooped B into his arms, bridal style. "You want your bed, or mine? Both same size, easier to buy sheets that way."

"I was afraid I was gonna get lost in that bed last night," he said, stroking Aloysha’s cheek. "Good thing you want to keep me company." 

"No good having your guest lost," Alexei said, and he wished he could keep his voice steadier. B felt perfect in his arms. Not tiny, but small, small enough to cradle close. Small enough that Alexei could feel every shiver in his body when Alexei kissed his neck. "I have to take better care of you. Keep you in my bed tonight so I can keep track."

"You're quite a gentleman, Alexei Mashkov."

"Aloysha," he corrected, pressing another kiss to B's soft, soft skin.

"Eric," B said. 

For a second, Alexei paused, trying to make sense of what B had just said. And then it clicked. "Eric," he said. "Come see how nice the bed is. I have pillow top."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexei's big bed comes in handy.

Aloysha had lifted him before--had lifted him earlier, on the ice--but it was something else to realize how easily Aloysha could carry him. He put Bitty down on the quilt covering the bed as carefully as if he was made of spun glass. Bitty felt the pillow top sink under his weight.

"You don't have to be gentle," Bitty said, his heart pounding. "You don't--"

"All right if I am?" Aloysha said. "Has been long day, for both of us. Worked too hard today for too much playing, yes?" He bent down and pressed his lips to Bitty's. 

Bitty reached up, put his hand on the back of Aloysha's neck and pulled him down for another kiss, this one hungry, because he might not want to be _rough,_ but they could still be _passionate._ Aloysha needed to realize how much he _wanted_ this.

The mattress dipped again as Aloysha climbed on, straddled Bitty. Oh, he was _massive,_ all muscle and his big, big hands. His thighs were strong and solid against Bitty's own. "Eric," he said, and reached down to caress Bitty's cheek. "I am so glad you are here."

"Not half as glad as I am," Bitty said, and _there_ was Aloysha's hip, the tight denim hugging his body, and Bitty spread his fingers out to feel the meat of Aloysha's thigh, slid his hand back toward Aloysha's ass. He'd changed into sweats for bed, but kept his briefs on, and the fabric was already tight over his cock. Oh, Aloysha felt good. Felt strong, even lean as he was from the back end of the season. He groaned as Bitty squeezed his cheeks through his jeans.

One big hand pushed Bitty's hair back from his face, and Aloysha kissed him again, his tongue sliding into Bitty's mouth, slick and hot. He was less hesitant now, but still gentle.

He'd wanted this longer than he should have, but he didn’t have to feel guilty about it now. He could just savor the way it felt when Aloysha's hands skimmed across Bitty's sides and under his t-shirt. One thumb brushed against Bitty's nipple until it hardened, and then Aloysha's head bent down, his body sliding out of Bitty's grasp, and he was sucking at Bitty's nipple through his t-shirt and Bitty was bucking his hips against Aloysha. 

"Don't stop, Lord, don't _stop--"_

"No," Aloysha said, and bit gently at Bitty's nipple. "Not as long as you are liking."

"I like," Bitty said. “Oh, I like.” He pulled his t-shirt over the back of his head, took a second to stroke Aloysha's cheek as the fabric passed between them. Aloysha smiled up at him, sweet and bright, and licked his other nipple. 

Bitty tipped his head back. Oh, that was good. Aloysha kissed his way down Bitty's chest, lower, lower. Bitty was shaking a little. 

Bitty wasn't the...biggest guy, he knew. He'd never had any complaints, but--it wasn't exactly breathtaking, when his pants came down. 

Aloysha didn't seem to mind, though. He rubbed his face against Bitty's cock like it was all he'd ever wanted. "You want more, Eric? Want my mouth on you?"

"Oh," Bitty said, and found Aloysha's thick hair. "Yes, please--"

Aloysha pulled Bitty's sweatpants away from his waist, pulled them off his ass along with his shorts. He kissed Bitty's hipbone, licking at his skin. "Love the way you taste," he said. "Sweet as your pies."

Bitty teased at Aloysha’s hair with his thumbs. "You're flattering me-- _oh--"_

And _that_ was Aloysha's mouth on him, taking the full tip of his erection in. Bitty had to close his eyes, stop himself from thrusting up into Aloysha's mouth.

Oh, his mouth was so _good,_ warm and wet and soft. He was going to owe Aloysha one hell of a blowjob in return for this. Or--"Tomorrow," he gasped. "Let me--can I ride you?"

Aloysha swallowed around him, the pressure so intense that Bitty had to squeeze his eyes tighter, fight the impulse to pull at Aloysha's hair. 

That certainly felt like a _yes._

Aloysha cupped his balls, teased them with his fingers, worked Bitty’s cock with his mouth. 

"Don't stop," he said, "my goodness, you're--oh, you're so good. So..." Aloysha did something wet and perfect with his tongue, and Bitty couldn't talk any more. 

He carded his hands through Aloysha's hair, trying to be encouraging, trying to show in his fingertips everything else that was going through his body. 

He'd had a month or so after Jack where he'd swiped right on damn near everyone, dates, one-night stands, maybe a weekend if everything clicked. It had felt good sometimes, but it hadn't felt right, hadn't been right.

It was different when you had someone--

Someone who made him feel like Aloysha did. Like he was someone special. Someone he wanted to stay with, _be_ with. 

Oh, he felt good, so good. He'd never had anyone so good with his _mouth,_ and there was just so damn _much_ of him. He twisted his hands in the quilt as Aloysha's mouth worked. 

He came, his hips shaking hard, Aloysha swallowing his come like it was ambrosia.

Oh, Lord, _Lord,_ he'd never had anyone like Aloysha, and he wasn't sure he'd ever want anything else.

Aloysha licked Bitty's cock from base to tip as he pulled off. "Good?"

"Oh," Bitty said. "So good, let me--" He reached for Aloysha. "Come up," he said. "Please, let me--Lord, I need to kiss you, can I--"

Aloysha crawled back up Bitty's body, covering him, kissing his way up to Bitty's chest, chin, lips. "You don't mind--"

"Just--" Bitty said, and kissed him, and he could get lost in this man and never come up for air. "What do you need? I'll--"

"Just--your hand, want to see you--"

His reach wasn't quite enough to kiss Aloysha and jerk him off, but Aloysha took Bitty in his arms and rolled onto his side so they were face to face. He looked into Bitty's face as Bitty struggled with his zipper, slid his still-shaky hand into his briefs and found his cock.

Aloysha wasn't cut, but that wasn't unfamiliar territory; Bitty kind of liked it better, honestly, the soft slide of a foreskin in his fingers. The unfamiliar part was how _big_ he was, and Bitty wondered if he'd regret that offer to ride Aloysha, but maybe not, because everything else about Aloysha felt right, every inch of him, and Aloysha seemed to love every damn thing he tried with his hand, too.

He came across Bitty's stomach, and on another night, he'd offer a second round, but they hadn't been wrong, earlier, when they'd talked about Bitty's early morning and Aloysha's brutal day. They'd still have tomorrow, and the day after that.

Lord, it wasn't going to be enough.

He let go and leaned in to kiss Aloysha. "All right?"

"Eric Bittle," he said, putting an arm around Bitty and pulling him closer. "'All right.' Yes. All right. More than that." He breathed, deep, and closed his eyes. "Don't know how I sleep alone after this."

"You'll be all right," he said. He was going to be sticky if he didn't get up and clean off, but Aloysha was so big and warm and perfect right now, he couldn't care too much. "I'll call you. Visit when I can. We can meet up when you play close. I won't--" _I won't lose you,_ he thought, and that was too clingy by half, wasn't it? But the feeling was strong as steel in his chest.

"We should wash off," Aloysha said, with a little sigh. “And I cannot sleep in jeans.”

"I'd rather not move, honestly."

"Well," Aloysha said. "That I can help with."

Before Bitty could ask what he meant, much less register any kind of protest, Aloysha had scooped him up and was headed for the bathroom.

“Do you want to know a secret, Aloysha?”

“Always, Eric.”

“I...I do kind of like how big you are.”

“Good,” he said good-naturedly. “I am not getting smaller.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty keeps his promises.

Aloysha was still sleeping when Bitty's alarm went off in the morning. It was strange, knowing the man who could slam into flyers like a bulldozer could be so tender in bed. It was like a secret he'd been lucky enough to be let in on.

Bitty kissed his cheek, as softly as he could, but Aloysha still woke up enough to catch his waist, find his lips. "Good luck," he said, and let Bitty go.

The day was the same hurry-up-and-wait he'd sat through last time, makeup, lighting, what felt like hours setting up a table or taping a few reaction shots. But it went by quickly enough, and Carl, whose job it was to shepherd him around set and make sure he was in place, seemed pleased at the end of it all. "We won't need you for filming tomorrow, but we might bring you back in a month or two for some more reaction shots. Think you can make that work?"

"I'll make it work," he said.

Carl ticked off something on his tablet. "You're good on camera. I can't make any promises, but I know they liked you."

"Anything else you need, just let me know. I'll get that companion recipe to you early next week, when I'm back home."

"Take your time, we've got a lot of editing ahead of us. And they've tried enough of your stuff that they trust you. We'll run it through the test kitchen, but I don't think you'll have to start again from scratch."

He took an Uber back to the apartment and had it stop at the bodega so he could walk the rest of the way. Reaction shots meant they'd really liked him. Maybe this _would_ turn into a real job. At the very least, it'd bring traffic to his website and more eyes to his YouTube channel. The last year hadn't been easy; he'd wanted to keep the apartment, but rent had been harder than he'd hoped, and he hadn't been able to put much of anything by for emergencies. The car had been Jack's, so at least he hadn't had to keep up with those payments or insurance. But if he could bump up his income a little, that would be less time selling coffee and a little more time to himself. He could finally go west and visit Chowder like he'd been promising. And bus trips to New York weren't that expensive, as much as he might dislike the noise. He dug into his pocket for the spare key Aloysha had loaned him.

He could move to New York, if he made enough. 

Or if--

He need to cook something. Maybe Aloysha would help him get to True Colors or something, everybody could use cookies, right? He could call to make sure it was all right, and--

"You're home," Aloysha said, from his big easy chair.

"Yeah," he said, putting the bag from the store on the floor. "They said they don't need me tomorrow, but they might want to call me back in a month or two for reaction shots."

Aloysha smiled. "Good, yes? Wanting you back?"

"Yes," he said. "Very good. I thought I might--" Aloysha was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, nothing different than normal, but different when Bitty knew exactly what was underneath the soft cotton and rough denim. Different when Aloysha looked like he wanted to eat him up. "Well. I could do that later."

"You come here, tell me about your day?"

"I'll come there, anyway," he said, kicking off his shoes. "We might get distracted after that."

"I might be counting on it," Aloysha said, as Bitty dropped into his lap. He lifted his chin up for the kiss, opening his mouth under Bitty's, cupping the side of his face in one big hand as the second dropped down to Bitty's ass. 

It still felt so _new,_ the way Aloysha felt against him, the smell of his soap and deodorant. A little stubble on his cheeks because he hadn't bothered shaving. He broke the kiss, put his forehead against Aloysha's. "How was practice?"

"We played hockey, was fine." He pushed Bitty's hair back from his face and pulled him down for another kiss, this one stronger, more passionate. "TV was good, though?"

"Real good," Bitty said, and ground down on him, because he _could,_ because he loved the way Alyosha moved against him. He pushed his thumb across Aloysha's lips, and Aloysha kissed his skin as he did. "Maybe not as good as this."

"You are flattering me," Aloysha said, against his thumb, kissing him again, gently, sending his pulse pounding harder, top to bottom.

"Should we go to bed? Or do you want to stay here?"

“Stay here, kiss a little longer?"

"I wouldn't say no," he said.

Aloysha kissed him again, and he was the sweetest thing, all tenderness and gentle touches. Bitty wondered if he was always like this, or if it was just the newness of what they had. Or--

"You know, I told you I won't break," he said, when they parted for breath again. "You don't have to be so--"

"I know you don't break," Aloysha said, softly. "But maybe I like treating you like--like precious thing. Am always tough guy at work. Is nice to be gentle at home sometimes. Yes?"

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to try it," Bitty said, and he was blushing again, wasn't he? "I don't dislike it, don't misunderstand me. It's just--that doesn't have to be _all_ we do."

"Is only second time," he said. "You have to give me many more times to practice, get right." He winked, and Bitty had to laugh at him.

"I do like this," he said. "That you laugh. That it's not so serious to you."

"It is serious," Aloysha said. "Sometimes. But fun, too, yes?"

"Lord, yes," Bitty said, and oh, he could kiss, and _oh,_ it felt nice when Aloysha slid his big hands down to cup Bitty's ass again, like they'd been molded to fit. "We've got the whole night to ourselves, right?"

"Yes," Aloysha said, squeezing his cheeks. "I have _you_ all to myself. No sharing tonight."

"I want to ride you, all right?"

"You said last night," he said. "But--I'm big, Eric. You don't have to--"

"I've had big before," he said, leaning forward and kissing Aloysha’s nose. "We'll just go slow."

"Just--don't let me hurt you tonight, all right? Sometimes people--they see big and they want rough. Second night, I don't want to be--"

"Alexei Mashkov," Bitty said, as seriously as he could manage under the circumstances, "I don't want you to be anyone but your own self. Ever. All right? I want you to like what we're doing, too. It's no fun unless we're both havin' fun, right? So I won't let you hurt me. I swear."

"All right," he said, and oh, Lord, he hadn't expected any of this, but Aloysha being so damn desperate to be kind and take things slow gave his heart a twist. Had the people he'd been with not wanted this? Had they just assumed that because Tater Mashkov was merciless on the ice, he'd be brutal in bed?

Whatever it was, Aloysha was looking at him like he'd hung the gosh-darned moon, and Bitty wanted to keep that look on his face forever. Bitty kissed him again, his heart beating faster. He slid his hips forward, and _oh,_ there was Aloysha, hard underneath him. He started unbuttoning his shirt, slow, sensual, and Aloysha's smile was a glory.

 _His_ glory, all to himself tonight. "Help me get this off?" Bitty asked.

"Would love to." Aloysha pushed the rest of Bitty’s button-down shirt off his shoulders, tossing it onto the floor, then grabbed his undershirt by the hem. "Unwrap you like my very best present. My birthday, early, yes? Or maybe Christmas late?"

"My present, too," he said. "But yes. Whatever you want, honey."

"This is what I want," he said. "Just you. For...maybe too long."

"That doesn't matter," Bitty said, because he understood that feeling all too well. "We're here now." He reached for the zipper of Aloysha's jeans, slid his hand in the fly, stroked him gently, just a tease before sliding his hand back out. Oh, _Lord,_ Aloysha was big. "Let me?"

"Not sure I could say no to you," Aloysha said. "But we don't have--"

"Oh, don't worry," Bitty said, reaching into his jeans pocket with his free hand. "I stopped at the store, didn't you see?" He wiggled the tube of lube. "I wanted to be ready for you."

"Eric Bittle, you will be--what is it they say, the death of me?"

"Well," Bitty said, "I sure hope not. Take your shirt off for me?"

Aloysha pulled his shirt over his head. "Pants too?"

"That's up to you," he said, "but I'm gonna pull mine off--" He lifted his hips up a little, and Aloysha helped him unzip, slide his jeans and briefs off. 

"We can--I have condoms," Aloysha said. "If you--"

"I don't mind," Bitty said. "I--I'm careful. Get my tests done. But if you--"

"Want to feel you," Aloysha said, breath so rough he was almost panting. "Feel everything."

"Me too," Bitty said, and kissed him again, grinding into Aloysha's lap, his freed cock against the heat of Aloysha's jeans; nothing focused, just animal rutting, his heart pounding hard. Aloysha stroked his back with one hand, the other still cupped on Bitty's left cheek, holding him in place.

"Can--you want me to finger, yes? Please?" Oh, Bitty liked it when Aloysha's accent slipped. Liked it better when Aloysha was asking for what he wanted.

He fumbled with the tube, squeezing what was probably too much on Aloysha's fingers, lifting his ass up a little to give him better access. The tip of Aloysha's big finger started pushing in, just a little, and Bitty closed his eyes to focus on the sensation. 

"Oh, Lord," Bitty said. "Give me more of that, please--"

"Oh, no," Aloysha said. "I don't get you many more nights. Have to take my time." His finger slipped in, slowly, so slowly, and Bitty tipped his head back, trying to resist the temptation to just go ahead and _impale_ himself on Aloysha's finger.

"Need you," Bitty said, his breath coming faster, his cock hard and starting to leak. "Need you so much--"

"Be patient," he said. "I want to make you feel so good, so good--"

"Little further in," he said. "You're close to--oh, Lord, yes. There. _Right_ there." Warmth spread through him, intense, and he was _hungry,_ so hungry. "Give me more, please--"

Aloysha pressed a kiss to his chest, wet, sloppy. He licked Bitty's left nipple, and Bitty was going to lose his damn _mind_ if the teasing was going to keep up. 

"Just another finger, Aloysha, _please--"_

"Just one?" Aloysha's finger held still, just a little back from the sweet spot, and Bitty couldn't stop the little whine from escaping his throat. "Or do you want more than that?"

Oh, Aloysha was a _tease._ Bitty was going to burn before he ever got off.

"Anything, hon, I want--Lord, give me everything you've _got._ Please."

Aloysha's chuckle made his whole chest rumble, low, sweet. "Oh, I have a lot to give." He moved his fingers, just a little, and there was the push of one--two more, and now his finger was pressing _hard_ against that sweet spot, and Bitty couldn't suppress a shudder.

"You make me feel so good, God, please, just don't stop--"

"Tell me what's good," Aloysha said. "What you want."

"Just--oh, Lord, all of you. Everything."

Aloysha moved his fingers again, a sweet little pulse against his prostate, sending hot little waves up and down Bitty's body. It was all he could do to keep his hips still, to let Aloysha take the lead this time, let him tease. He murmured something low in Russian, and then caught himself. "Beautiful," he said. "You're so beautiful."

"It's all right," Bitty said. "I don't mind--you can say--oh, I can hardly talk in English right now myself."

"Want you to understand," he said. "Understand everything. Want to tell you so much--"

"We have time," he said, panting. "We've got all night--"

"Not enough time with you," he said, and Bitty had to kiss him, leaning closer so his chest met Aloysha's. Aloysha's free hand stroked his back.

"Come on," Bitty said, pushing back against Aloysha's fingers again, trying to get Aloysha to stretch him further. "Give me--"

"Yes," Aloysha said, and this time he worked further into Bitty, filling him more, putting more pressure on his prostate. The hand on his back moved to his hip, gripping him there, keeping him braced.

Bitty shifted his hips, trying to get more pressure, more pleasure. "Yes," he said, and his hips were moving on their own, even with Aloysha steadying him. He was _aching,_ and he wasn't going to last for long. He sure hoped that Aloysha wouldn't mind going again. "You-- _ah--_ you're too good--too good to me."

"That is the plan," Aloysha said. 

"Won't last," he stammered, shaking again. "I can't--"

"Come for me," he said. "Oh, B--Eric--"

He came, his cock jerking against Aloysha's stomach, and it was so _good,_ but it still wasn't enough. "Let me," he whispered, when he could get breath again. "Please, Aloysha, let me ride you--" Bitty reached into his jeans and got his hand back on Aloysha's big cock. Oh, Lord, was he really ready for this?

Aloysha was hard and straining against his fingers. "If you are sure--"

"Yes," he said, and kissed Aloysha, hard and frantic. "Want you in me, so much."

"Slow," Aloysha said, "just go slow, all right? Don't let me hurt--"

"It's all right," Bitty said, and lifted his hips up as Aloysha slid his fingers out. "I won't." Going slow would give him a chance to recover, anyway.

Aloysha braced Bitty’s hips as he lined up, sunk down so the head of Aloysha's cock started pressing in, hard and big and good.

He was going to have to go slow, but Aloysha sure didn't seem to mind. "You just stay still," Bitty said. "And I'm gonna take good care of you."

Aloysha nodded, his eyes locked on Bitty's. "Just take your time," he said, soft. He reached up and cupped Bitty's cheek with his hand, and it felt like they were made to fit together.

Bitty moved slowly, deliberately, letting his weight sink down, letting Aloysha's cock stretch him further. He leaned down and kissed Aloysha again, and Aloysha moaned low and sweet. He smelled like his aftershave, cinnamon from the slice of pie he must have sneaked before Bitty came home. "I have to make you a quiche," he said, breathing, trying to relax. "For mornings. So you remember me."

"Never forget you," Aloysha said, as Bitty pushed just a little further down. "No way I could." 

It felt so good, a little burn but not enough to make him want to stop. He pushed his hips forward this time as he sunk down further, and felt Aloysha's hand clutch at his left hip, watched his eyelashes flutter closed. He leaned down, kissed Aloysha again, wet and wanton. It was easier now, and he worked his way down slowly, shifting his hips as he went, teasing Aloysha with every tiny motion. 

Finally, he sat back, his legs rested on Aloysha's thighs and his body fully in place. Neither of them moved for a minute. He breathed, slow, steady, feeling Aloysha's own rough breath. Aloysha's hands had worked their way to Bitty's back, his fingers digging in solidly. 

"Are you ready?" 

Aloysha wrapped his arms around Bitty and kissed him, hard, less gentle than he had been before. 

_Ready,_ Bitty thought, and moved.

That did it, finally sliding Aloysha out of his concern and fully into lust. He gasped a little, loosened his grip as Bitty slid forward, back, ground _down,_ and Bitty moved slow, slow, finding the sweet spot and teasing himself with the hot pressure of Aloysha's big, perfect cock.

"Oh," Aloysha said, his voice just over a whisper. "Oh, don't--don't stop--"

"No," Bitty said. "No, hun, you're going to stay right _there--"_ He snapped his hips forward, and Aloysha groaned low. "Right where I want you to be, all right? Wanna make you feel so good--"

Aloysha tipped his head back. "So good," he echoed. _"Eric."_

Lord, no one ever said his name the way Aloysha did. No one felt the way Aloysha did inside him, filling him, the burn gone and nothing but pressure and pleasure now. Aloysha said something in Russian and some silly part of Bitty's brain filed away that he'd have to learn more of the language, because he wanted to know what it meant when Aloysha talked to him so sweet and low and sexy. 

Aloysha pushed up into him now, less tender than he had been, and that was _him,_ what he'd done to Aloysha, and he wanted so much more, to make him lose all control. Next time, maybe, and Lord it did things to him, thinking about a next time, and another next time after that. 

"It's okay," Bitty said. "It's good. I won't--won't break." 

Aloysha shook his head, said something else sweet as pie in Russian. "You--I meant," he said. “I will die right here.” But he took Bitty's hips in his big hands and pushed up harder, faster, fiercer. "Yes?"

 _"Please,"_ Bitty said, the word raw in his throat, and held on, pushed back, rode hard and fast and rough. Aloysha groaned, and they rocked together, and Lord, Bitty had never had this good, never had this _big._ He was hard all over again, like he hadn't come at all.

Aloysha came underneath him, _in_ him, a low, soft grunt, and Bitty felt his cock pulse. Aloysha's hand wrapped around Bitty's dick, working him fast and steady. Bitty came, heat washing across him, Aloysha whispering something into his shoulder.

"Lord," Bitty said, when he could catch his breath. "We'll have to do that again sometime."

Aloysha kissed him, tender, slow, and that was all the answer he needed.

"So," Bitty said, from his position against Aloysha's chest. "What else did you have planned?”

Aloysha laughed, and Bitty put his face against that deep, comforting rumble and wished he didn't have to go back to Providence. "I thought you could meet some friends tomorrow, after game? 28 has been telling me he wants to meet you. But if you would rather stay home, just us, I can say you're tired."

He was tired and would probably be more tired tomorrow, but not so tired that he couldn't hear what Aloysha was hoping behind the words. "I'd like to meet your friends."

"Okay.” 

Bitty needed to move, get off Aloysha and clean up. He kissed Aloysha on the nose instead.

Aloysha smiled at him, pecked him on the lips. "Is selfish," he said. "But I wish you could stay."

"Maybe it is," Bitty said. "But I do, too."

"You visit after season ends, yes?"

"Before, if I can," he said. "I'm only four days a week at the bakery, so I think I can sneak up, if you have another good stretch or two at home."

"We will check. Have your people call my people." Aloysha squeezed him. "And I have one more day with you, yes?"

"Yes," Bitty said. "And I’ll make those quiches."

"If you want, you make. You know I’ll eat. But I won't forget you." Aloysha kissed Bitty’s cheek, and the affection in his voice made Bitty swallow hard. "Never."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexei runs errands. Eric makes quiche.

They both slept in the next morning. Alexei woke with Eric's head resting against his chest, right at the perfect angle for Alexei to press a kiss into his soft blond hair.

"Mmm," Eric said, still half-asleep. 

"You rest," he said. "I have to go into the office, nothing big. I make you breakfast when you come back?"

Eric made some kind of murmur that might have been agreement. Alexei disentangled himself from Bitty's arms and legs--for his size, he had a strong grip--and slid out of bed. He sent Eric a text in case he hadn't woken up enough to remember what he'd said, and got in the shower.

Eric was fully asleep when he got back out, toweling his hair off. He'd rolled over onto Alexei's side of the bed, his head on Alexei's pillow, and Alexei wanted to slide back into the sheets and wake him with kisses.

But he needed to go in. 

Charlie was at his desk when Alexei knocked on the frame of the office door. "Charlie?"

"Hey," Charlie said, looking up. "Tater, what's up?"

"Do you have--we should talk, if you have time. I probably should have set appointment, but--"

Charlie waved away his hesitation. "Come on in. Glad to talk with you. I’m approving press statements, it’s boring as shit."

"I know I was in Perez," Alexei said, sinking into the chair across from Charlie’s desk. "With Eric. I want to tell you--"

"Tater," Charlie said. "Don't worry. You're a good player. You're an honest guy, you've got years in--"

"I am--this is not a friendly visit, Eric being here. Or one-time thing. I--they are going to call him names." He sunk into the chair. "Like you said, I have years in NHL. I know."

"I guess you do," Charlie said. "This...is new?"

"This is new," he said. "Very new. He is good man. But he has already--he did this once, yes?"

"That means he'll know what to expect. He was good on camera, and he’s a hockey player, that might help with what you’re worried about. Harder to call somebody a puck bunny when they’ve taken their share of shots. But--I appreciate you coming in. We can get ahead of it a little. And you can give him my number in case someone comes knocking."

"Thank you," he said. "I am--it is good of you."

"It's my job, Tater, don't thank me too much."

"We did not plan--he is here for business, I asked him to stay. I--know how this game is played. Would not spring things on you--"

"Tater," Charlie said. "Stop that. You're the nicest guy I know in this gang of idiots, and you’re thoughtful, too. I know you haven't been hiding a secret boyfriend in your closet. I’d understand if you had, you want to know the truth. But you're a team player. We appreciate it. Don't worry, okay?"

"Okay," Tater said. “I am--I appreciate you very much.”

 

When he got back, the smell of baking had once again filled the apartment. So much for telling Eric to wait. "Everything all right here?" he asked.

"Two quiches done, two more on deck," Eric said, with satisfaction. "We'll get those in the oven, and that should keep you for a little while. Tomato feta, broccoli cheddar--that one's got a little bacon in it--classic quiche Lorraine, and a spinach and pine nut one, I found some leftover ham in the fridge and--"

"You were supposed to let me cook for you," Alexei said. 

"I thought maybe you said that? But I might've dreamt it, and I wanted to get the quiches done." He flashed Alexei a smile and then Alexei looked at him, really looked. 

"You are wearing," he said, and then his voice stopped working, along with half his brain.

Eric's lips curled, just a little, a tease. "Oh," he said. "This thing? I found it in your closet, hope you don't mind."

He was wearing a dark blue apron--Alexei had no idea where that had come from, maybe Eric had packed it--and underneath that, a Rangers jersey, and--was he wearing _anything_ underneath the jersey?

Alexei swallowed.

"Did everything go all right?" 

Alexei strode across the floor, scooped Eric into his arms, slid his hands down Eric's ass as he pushed Eric against the counter. He was wearing shorts underneath, just tight compression shorts, molded against his muscular ass. Alexei spread his thighs wide and stepped between them, kissing Eric soft and sloppy, tasting bacon on his breath. 

"I have to clean up," Eric said, the gentlest of protests.

"I'll help," Alexei said, pushing his fingers into the hem of Eric's shorts. "Later, yes?"

"Well," Eric said, and licked his lips. "If you promise."

Alexei would promise the world to get this. "Promise," he said, and started working the shorts off.

Eric wiggled against him, murmuring some complaint about wanting to keep the counters clean, but Alexei knew better than to pay it much attention with the way Eric's fingers were clutching at his arms. He kissed the hollow of Eric's neck, and stroked Eric though the shorts before he pulled them all the way off. 

Something wet and slick touched his fingers. "Eric?"

"Maybe I was waiting for you," Eric said against his ear, and Alexei reached back, found the thick end of a plug. 

Well. So much for the innocent act and not wanting to get the counters dirty. Alexei's cock throbbed. "Surprising me," he said.

"I thought you'd never get home," Eric said, his voice a little less calm now. "I wanted to get them quiches in but--" His fingers scrabbled at Alexei's jeans, seeking the zipper, "--wanted you to get home, get _here_ \--"

"Thought about you too," Alexei said. He’d thought about how little time they had left, how much he wanted to keep Eric _here,_ job back in Providence be damned. Someone would want him here in New York. How could _anyone_ not want him?

He slid the plug out, not sure what to do with it next. 

"Pocket, hun," Eric whispered, as he slid his hand into Alexei's fly. "We'll wash it out later."

The apron pocket. Okay. Alexei fumbled the plug in and got his hands back where they belonged. Maybe he was getting addicted to Eric's skin, or the sugar smell that seemed to follow him around. He always had had a sweet tooth.

"Oh, Lord, don't stop," Eric said, and bit at his earlobe. He jacked Alexei a few times and started guiding him back, guiding him in.

He breathed, slow and easy as he could, not wanting to hurt Eric or push in too far, too fast. Eric was too eager, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt him.

"Please," Eric said, a groan, as he tightened around Alexei's cock. "Please."

"Give you what you--" Alexei slid in a little deeper. "Exactly what you need. Just be patient, yes?"

"I told you, waited for you," Eric said, under his breath. "So long. So-- _oh!"_

 _There_ was the spot, and Eric squeezed tighter, and Alexei wrapped an arm around his waist and pushed in, deeper, harder. "Yes?"

"Oh, yes, you know, don't tease me--"

"No," Alexei said, "not now, no teasing--"

They rocked together, Eric putting his hands behind him to try to find purchase on the counter, Alexei wrapping an arm around his waist to secure him, pull him closer, bracing their shared weight with his free hand.

Women never seemed to mind his size, but he'd had a few men balk, whether out of genuine discomfort or their own egos Alexei had never been sure. But Eric just wanted _more._ At some point he'd wrapped a leg around Alexei so they could have a better angle, and he was leaning back in Alexei's arms, almost _purring_ encouragement, wordless, sweet murmurs. 

"You're so beautiful," Alexei stammered, and only realized as the words came out of his mouth he was speaking Russian. "Beautiful," he said again, in English, and wondered if he'd ever be able to find the right words in English, if he could ever manage to say what was in his heart. 

But he could give Eric this, and his body might be able to express what he couldn't manage in words. 

Eric who _liked_ that he was big, who sent him silly pictures when the Rangers lost, who dealt with being nervous by trying to feed whole homeless shelters and hockey teams. Who held Alexei like he never, ever wanted to let him go.

"Ah," Eric said, twisting his hips up again, "that's perfect, oh, just perfect--"

"So good for me," Alexei said. "So tight--hold onto me--"

"Told you, I ain't about to let you go--"

Eric came against Alexei's stomach, Alexei kissing at his neck, just below his ear. "Lord," he said, as he caught his breath. "Mister Mashkov, I do believe we're starting to work all this out, don't you?"

Alexei laughed, and held Eric closer, and Eric said, "Come for me, want to feel you coming in me, please," and that and a few more thrusts were enough to take him over the edge, Eric gripping his shoulders, clenching him tight.

It took a little while to get Eric down safely from where Alexei was holding him against the counter, and they were both kind of a mess. Eric said, "I'll clean the counter up--" and Alexei slapped his ass and sent him off to the bathroom to clean himself up instead. He came back dressed in a clean t-shirt and jeans that hugged his ass so nicely Alexei wanted to take him back to bed all over again.

They had breakfast instead--"it's more brunch, I think," Eric said--and Alexei won the battle to make omelettes, but that meant Eric washed the dishes after all.

It was nice, though, the domestic feeling, the way Eric put a casual hand on his hip to steer around him. Alexei had always lived alone in New York, and he hadn't realized how much better the apartment felt with someone else. How much he'd wanted someone here (wanted Eric, his mind corrected, now he no longer had to lie to himself).

"No more washing, food is ready," he said, catching Eric’s hips and pulling him back from the sink, kissing him again on the top of his head. "Eat before it is cold, yes?"

“You didn’t have to cook for me.”

"You are not the only one who cooks, you know." He bumped his hip against Eric's. "Mama would not let me out of the house if I could not cook for myself. She had been to America, she knew your fast food."

"Maybe I'll put you on backup duty when my experiments go wrong," Eric said.

"Ah, admitting weakness?"

Eric winked. "Maybe a little."

"I myself have terrible weakness for pretty blonds." This kiss was at the back of Eric’s neck. "Maybe one pretty blond."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Alexei Mashkov."

 

They almost beat the Devils, but with their best flyer on the DL and the Devils on a five-game winning streak, 'almost' was probably as good as they were going to get.

"I saw your tape," 28 said, at Innwood. "Should've had you out there on the ice, Bits."

"I don't think I ever was quite that good, but I'm flattered," he said. "Eric's fine, if--"

"Eric." 28 clapped a hand on his shoulder. "My brother used to watch you in Juniors before you switched over to hockey, you were a couple years older. I always thought I was the tough one. Now he's an MMA fighter, so I don't know."

"Sounds like you're both tough," Eric said, diplomatically. "Why'd he quit skatin'?"

"Oh, he didn't quit skatin', just competition. He never made it out of regionals."

"Don't hog him," Aliyev said. "Just because you are You Can Play ambassador does not mean you are only ones who can talk to Tater's friend."

"My lord, you're almost as big as Aloysha," Eric said, and took his hand.

"Stronger, too," Aliyev said cheerfully, as he shook.

"Keep dreaming," Alexei teased. 

"I'm sure there's enough of me to go around," Eric said, and what a _flirt_ he could be. Alexei put his hand on Eric's back, and Eric leaned back into his touch a little. "It's a pleasure to meet you all, truly."

There weren't that many men Alexei was close to on the team, but they had all come tonight: 28, Aliyev ("Allie" on the ice, but sensitive about his name off it), and Hildy, their goalie--Alexei always did get along with his goalies. 28 had brought his fiance and Hildy’s wife was supposed to meet them at the restaurant, which made a good crowd, enough that no one could corner Eric too much. Instead, Eric talked about soul food with Tyra and horse meat with Aliyev and told carefully censored stories about the Falconers and what he'd done with the Food Network.

His phone buzzed a few times, but he didn't pay much attention to it until he was walking back from the bathroom.

Zimmboni. _How's Bittle?_

_Eric is good. Liking New York._

_Everything OK with you guys?_

_Good._

_Good,_ Zimmboni sent back. 

Alexei had always liked Zimmboni. They'd been good teammates. 'Work friends' was what Snowy always said, the ones you caught up with when they were in town but maybe didn't talk with all the time. Not like Snowy, or Goldie from back in Detroit. Not like Eric had been.

Alexei leaned against the wall, reading through the texts again, and wondered if Zimmboni had assumed they were together. It was hard to read Zimmboni. 

Either way, it was not so bad, that he was asking about them, asking if things were good.

It was a start.

 

That night, with Eric nestled tight in his arms again, he counted weeks until the off-season. Fewer if they lost the playoffs, but even love wasn't enough for him to want _that._

It would probably be awkward to try training at the same rink as the Falconers, especially as Zimmboni, even if he wasn’t upset. There were other rinks in Providence.

If Eric was all right with all of this. If everything--

It felt so close, his future, the future he'd wanted. A home with a husband, maybe someday even a family. It was what he’d wanted for so long.

It felt so _fragile._

"You keep thinkin' that hard, you'll never get to sleep, Aloysha."

"I will be fine.” One last game before he was on the road again. At least in Philadelphia he wouldn't be faced with his familiar, empty bed. "I can call you from road, yes?"

"You can call me whenever you want to," he said. "You know that." He put his hand on Alexei's arm. "Lord, I'll miss you."

"They can't want you so much at the coffee shop," Alexei said.

"I...it's been home for a while," Eric said, carefully. "It’s nice, Providence. And I--we can't take this too fast."

"No." He kissed the top of Eric's head, where it rested against his chest. "I know. But is going to be lonely without you."

"Yeah," Eric said. "It is. I got a feelin' I'm going to be giving Sojourner House more cookies than they know what to do with."

"You will come visit me again?"

"Try and keep me away, darlin'."

"We will make cookies together, when you come. I will show you how to make my mama's khvorost."

“Making me branch out?”

"If you want. Russian cooking very good. Many tricks I can teach you," Alexei said.

"I'm countin' on it."

And that reassurance was finally enough to let Alexei get to sleep.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years later.

"Oh, Lord," Eric said, peeling his jacket off and working on his boots. "You know I love the city, but I hate this blasted weather. The snow’s so pretty when it falls, and then--" He sighed. "I swear it's black in half an hour."

"It's the exhaust," Aloysha said. He was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing in particular. It was--

Something was wrong.

Aloysha didn’t turn his head; his voice was dreamy, distant. "In Magnitogorsk, it was the same way, even though the city is smaller. But sometimes we went out to the country and--"

"Aloysha.” He walked over and put a hand on Aloysha’s shoulder. “What's wrong?"

Aloysha took another minute of thought before he answered. "What would you think--what would you think if this was my last season? If I retired?"

That--hadn’t been what he’d expecting, but the answer came easily enough. "I--I guess that would depend on why you want to retire."

"Sit with me?"

"Of course," Eric said, and sat on the couch next to him, close, so their thighs would press together. "I'm not upset. I'm just surprised. How long have you been thinking about this?"

"Last month. When I was hurt." It had been a concussion that had landed him on the couch for a week and a half. "They told me how lucky I was, that I'd only had two." he said. "How many more times am I lucky? I want to be a good husband. A good father. Not...compromised." He sat on the couch. "My father was good man--was a good man. Brilliant. But not as brilliant when he died. If he'd lived another ten, twenty years..." He shrugged. "I don't know. And that scares me."

Eric put his hand over Aloysha's. "You'll always be you," he said.

"Maybe not," Aloysha said. "That's why I worry."

"Don't do it for me, that's all," Eric said. "I miss you when you're gone, but I get by. I know you love it. I didn’t think you’d want to retire for years."

"I do love the ice, but my body doesn't love it so much, any more. You know about my knees. And...we all know. You can't do this forever. My father learned it. My mother, she had to have surgery on her back five years ago. I'm already--I love hockey. It is so much of who I’ve been. But I don't want to give it everything I am."

"You’re really serious about this?"

"Yeah," he said. "Really serious." He took Eric's hand. "If you're not ready, I understand. I can wait. But I think I am ready to be someone new. Be househusband, maybe. Take the little ones to school."

Oh, that made his heart do things. "You think I'd be a good father?"

"I do," he said. "But--I am not doing this for kids. Or just for kids. I want to do this for me. And for us. My parents were good parents, Eric. I had a good childhood. But I think, sometimes, of what they missed. And I want to be home for that."

And apparently he hadn't quite lost the ghost of Jack, because he still had to ask: "I know I wouldn't be home as much. You still think--"

"I told you," he said, and put his big, comforting arm around Eric's waist. "I had a good childhood, and that was with two parents who went all the time. All over the world. You mostly go to Knoxville. Not so far."

"You could come with me, sometimes, maybe."

“Or we would visit you, take little ones on big plane trip.” He nuzzled Eric’s hair. "I still haven't decided. Not for sure. But it's our future. I wanted to talk to you."

"Thank you," he said. "But you're right. It has to be your choice." He tipped his face up and kissed Aloysha on the cheek. "I think if we're going to talk about all these changes, I need to make an honest man out of you, though, shouldn't I?"

And for a second it was like his first game at Samwell, his heart pounding, all of his senses centered on the next moment, what was going to happen, what might hit him in the chest and drive him to the ice.

Aloysha’s eyebrows lifted. "Do you want to marry me, Eric Bittle?"

 _I’d better do it right,_ he thought, and slid down off the couch and onto one knee, looking up into Aloysha’s pretty eyes. "If you'll have me, Alexei Mashkov, it’d be an honor to call you my husband."

And Aloysha must have been thinking of all the times they’d talked around it, because his voice went soft when he asked: "You're sure?"

"I guess I've been thinking around it the way you've been thinkin' about retiring," he admitted, as Aloysha took Eric’s hands into his own. "Mama...she'll come or she won't, Aloysha. She's come around a lot, but--I can't wait the rest of my life hoping she'll say exactly what I'm hoping she'll say. If she says twenty years down the line 'I sure wish I'd been at your weddin', Dicky,' then...that's what happens. If she doesn’t say it at all, then it’s a good thing we didn’t wait." He laughed a little, and it was bitter in his throat, but Aloysha wasn’t. Aloysha was still looking down at him, wide-eyed. "So yeah, I guess that's my way of saying I'm sure."

Aloysha leaned down and pulled him hard, tight, into his arms. "I love you, Eric Bittle. I will--I will be your husband. Whenever you are ready."

"Oh, honey," Eric said. "I love you so damn much."

 

* * *

 

 

Retiring was supposed to be easy, but it was months of work. There were questions about the end of his contract, there were more pressers than he’d ever sat through, there were negotiations with his agent and his sponsors and maybe his agent’s sponsors too. Eric had insisted on doing much of the wedding planning, but Alexei put his foot down on having him do everything; after all, they were still both working.

He started getting accustomed to picking up calls without bothering about the number. Sometimes they were random cranks, but he could just curse at those in Russian until they were gone. He was eyeing the laundry, wondering if he could push things along for another day, when his phone rang yet again. “Hello?”

"Mr. Mashkov." The voice was Southern, soft, familiar.

"Mr. Bittle?"

"Oh, Lord, don't call me that," Eric's father said. “You're going to be my son-in-law."

"Oh." That was--unexpected. Mostly they talked to each other when Alexei leaned over Eric’s shoulder on Skype. Alexei found the nearest place to sit: the couch, which was currently occupied by a pile of Eric's old recipe books that he'd been sorting through for a project. He moved the books to the floor and sat. "Well. You should not call me Mr. Mashkov, then."

"What would you like? I'm used to hearing Tater on TV, but I don't know--"

"Alexei would be good, if that is all right with you."

"Sure," he said. "Alexei. Rick’s fine, if you don’t want to call me Coach--I figure you’ve got plenty of those. Anyway. We can figure that part out. I just--wanted to talk to you for a minute about the wedding."

"Eric is at work, but--"

"That’s just fine," Eric's dad said, firmly. "Now, I know couples shouldn't keep secrets, so I'm breaking the rules twice over, because Suzy doesn't know I'm callin' either. But I think for now this conversation needs to stay just between the two of us."

"All right," Alexei said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Now, I don't want to get Dicky's hopes up--at least, not yet--but I've been working on Suzanne, and she's been working on herself, if you want to know the truth, and I think she's going to make it."

 _You get my heart up so you will not hurt Eric’s,_ Alexei thought, ruefully, but he understood. If he'd been in this situation--and sometimes he wondered if he would be, if Papa had lived--it might be better to spare his feelings than dash his hopes. And Eric and his mother had been so close. ( _She never unfriended me on Pinterest,_ he'd told Alexei once. _I never gave up hope, 'cause of that._ ) "What would you like me to do?"

"Just make sure she's got a place at the table, if you catch my meaning. If I get lucky, she'll call and tell Dicky herself. But--" He sighed. "I don't know. I didn't think it would be this hard on her."

"You...knew?"

"I wondered," he said. "But I wasn't sure. I guess--I should've been braver, if you want to know the truth. Told him I’d always love him, no matter what. Started working on Suzy before he’d had to. But I didn't want to upset him, and if I'd been wrong--" Alexei heard him sigh. "If you ever have kids, Alexei Mashkov, be ready to screw up. Because you will. And sometimes it'll be a doozy."

 _If you ever have kids._ What had Eric said? "I will keep that in mind." He pulled one of the cookbooks into his lap and started turning pages, to have something to do with his hands.

"I--I'm sorry. I'm not doin' much of a job with this call. I want to tell you--I want to promise you--I'll be there. Don't you let Dicky worry about me. And I'll do everything I can to get Suzanne there, and I've got her sister Connie helpin’ too. You've made our boy happy. Happier than he ever was here, if you want God's honest truth. And it's past time I got to shake your hand, meet you face to face."

"I would like that very much," Alexei said. "And my mother would very much like to meet you too." His sister might not be able to make it--she was still home in Magnitogorsk, and coming back and forth wasn’t always easy--but Mama would be there.

"I used to watch her compete. It'd be a pleasure."

"Eric misses you," Alexei said, abruptly. "Both of you. Very much."

"I know," Coach said. "We miss him too."

 

Eric was too nervous at the rehearsal to pick up on how nervous Alexei was, and Snowy and Holster had been in charge of the dinner, which kept most of the details out of Eric’s hands.

 _Almost there,_ Rick had sent, the last time Alexei had dared check his phone. If Suzanne just held on, didn’t change her mind--

He forced himself to breathe. He caught Ransom’s eye, and Ransom looked slightly crazed. _He’s still kinda star-struck,_ Eric had said last night. _Be patient._ Pointing out that Ransom had lived with several NHL players in college apparently had no effect. Alexei just tried to be as friendly as he could.

“Oh, this is lovely,” Bitty said, with a little huff of breath.

“You like it?” That was Chowder, who was with the Penguins now.

“You all are too good to me,” he said. “And it sure does smell--”

“I think this is the room,” said a new voice. That was Rick, and with him:

"Coach? _Mama?"_

Alexei couldn't do anything but watch as his fiance ran for his mother, threw his arms around her. And then Eric was crying, and Eric's mother was crying, and Alexei was blinking back tears of his own.

At some point, Rick put a hand on Alexei's shoulder. "It's nice to meet you in person," he said.

Alexei said, "It is an honor," and reached out blindly to hug him.

"They weren't kidding when they said you were big," Rick said.

"Only six foot four," he said. "There are figure skaters as tall as me."

"Not many," Mama said from behind him. "It is all right, Aloysha. I do not think Mr. Bittle is so worried." She extended her hand. "It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Bittle."

"Oh, the pleasure's mine," Rick said. "I remember watching you in Calgary."

"You would have watched my husband as well, if it hadn't been for his shoulder," she said. "I never heard the end of it."

"He was a darn good player. It would’ve been an honor." He glanced over. Eric and his mother were still holding on to one another for dear life. "Well...I guess this isn't turning out too badly."

"No," Alexei said.

"I wish--I do wish you could have met my Dmitri," Mama said. "He would have liked Eric. Very much."

"I'm glad," Rick said, and cast another glance at his wife and son. "If you'll--"

"Go," Mama said, and Rick all but ran to them, getting captured in the hug. Alexei put his arm around Mama's shoulders and she pulled him close. _"I know he would have liked Eric,"_ she said to him, in Russian. _"He would be happy for you, Aloysha. I wish Anika could be here too."_

That was when Alexei truly started crying.

 _"I know it,"_ she said, into his shoulder. _"I know he would. He loved you so much.”_

Someone else was crying too, big, ugly sobs.

“Ransom,” hissed Holster. _”Get it together.”_

 

_**A Marriage Made In...Hockey?** _

_Alexei “Tater” Mashkov, recently retired from the NHL, married Food Network personality Eric Bittle at Housing Works Bookstore in New York City. Guests munched on farm-to-table fare, and the Bittle-Mashkov publicity machine reminded us that all the money spent on fresh sweet corn and artisanal cheese went to benefit homeless people living with HIV/AIDS. In addition to the expected hockey and basic cable royalty, we spied pioneering medical researcher Justin Oluransi, legendary figure skater Nina Mashkova, and a few more celebrities major and minor; scroll down for all the best shots. We’ve heard a rumor that there might be some Tater Tots in the future...stay tuned…_

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a simple kink meme fill and grew ~~like Tater in his teen years~~ thanks in part to the encouragement of the nonnies who commented and cheerleaded this story.
> 
> Sojourner House, True Colors and Housing Works Bookstore are all real, and pretty awesome.
> 
> Title's from a Scissor Sisters song.
> 
> (the prompt: Bitty/Tater, size kink: _With lots of emphasis on size difference. If there's sex, bonus Tater has a giant dick and Bitty's is on the small side...I would really prefer if Alexei's name (or Alyosha) were used if it's going to be porny._


End file.
